The Kid suggested yesterday that we leave out cookies and milk for Santa.
We have always told him that Santa is a story, but he loves pretending. (This morning: “I heard Santa on the roof last night!”)
By bedtime, he had forgotten about the milk and cookies, but we left out a plate with crumbs and a glass with milk residue and a note that Santa left, complete with a hoof print from Rudolph.
He was delighted this morning.
As I’ve mentioned, Christmas has never been amazing.
Somehow, I have a kid who loves everything Christmas. He wants all the decorations, sings all the songs, loves all the stuff.
And so, our house has lights outside and lights inside. And a 4-foot tree. And a Charlie Brown tree. And a little tree in his bedroom. (The glittery wreath is at his other house…)
He wanted inflatables, but The Climbing Daddy and I agree: inflatables are No Good.
We hung stockings with little ornaments with our initials that he picked out.
And somewhere, I saw an idea to put packages in white paper and stack and decorate them to look like snowmen. And it stuck, and I had to do it.
Last night, after The Kid went to sleep in a sleeping bag on the living room floor, The Climbing Daddy and I filled stockings.
We piled white box on white box. Drew faces and buttons. Balanced hats and wrapped scarves.
Left out a plate and glass and note.
And when it was done and it was time for us to join him for sleep in the living room … I was happy.
And when he woke up (after the sun came up—hooray night owl kid!), he was excited about everything.
And I was happy.
Merry Christmas to those who celebrate.
And to those who don’t, or those who wish they didn’t … there’s magic out there if you can let yourself see it, and if not … it’s almost over…
